


Waving at the Devil

by whymzycal



Category: Saiyuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whymzycal/pseuds/whymzycal
Summary: Koumyou is the Prelate-Chancellor on Mars, and Ukoku works for Lady G’s Syndicate. After sixteen years apart, they meet again. No good can come of this, even though they won’t admit it to themselves—let alone each other.
Relationships: Koumyou Sanzo/Ni Jianyi | Ukoku
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Waving at the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 7th Night Smut exchange. It’s noirish, so the ending isn’t exactly happy. See: _Saiyuki_ Burial. But nobody dies on-screen, as it were.

The Martian sunset, a glorious, angry red that seemed to pulse when seen through his crawler's windshield, looked strangely flattened thanks to the double polarization of his sunglasses and the dome's solar screen. Ukoku brushed his glasses' frames absently, and the darkness fled from the lenses. Ah, yes. That vibrant, shimmering ochre was more like it.

_Ukoku._ An indistinct voice crackled in his ear. He frowned and turned away from the solar screen. He’d left strict orders for the Syndicate’s lackeys to leave him alone, so either someone wanted a serious ass-kicking, or he was about to get some scut work.

Ukoku tongued the pinhole mic switch just under his lower left second molar. “Ukoku here,” he murmured. “This had better be important.”

_Ken, darling_ , said the low, sultry voice of Lady G. _I have a little job for you._

Scut work, then.

“Who am I supposed to kill this time?”

A rich laugh echoed through his head, and Ukoku waited. Lady G’s genuine amusement occasionally boded well for him. Maybe this would be such an occasion.

_Nobody. Yet. I’m sending you to Bradbury to do a little sniffing around._

Bradbury? Goddammit. Somebody wasn’t doing their job right. Ukoku typically took great pleasure in certain kinds of fuckups—he enjoyed a good troubleshooting, especially since the shooting was so often literal. But the nuts and bolts of the Lady’s current pet project were such that any wrinkle might result in the kind of chaos that pissed him off instead of affording him the sparkling, effervescent enjoyment that schadenfreude so often provided. 

Wonderful. He doubted he would enjoy this assignment. With a sigh of aggravation that didn’t fully make it into his voice, he said, “Oh?” as though Lady G were asking him to bring back some carb and protein slabs from one of New Edo’s little conbinis. 

_Mmh._ She laughed again, and this time Ukoku felt a frisson of impatience worm its way up his spine. Thankfully, she didn’t draw out the suspense for once: it seemed the issue was more pressing than he’d thought.

_We’re having a problem with smoothing out the supply lines, and I’m beginning to doubt that my stepson can resolve the issue._

Ukoku pushed his glasses to perch atop his head and glanced down at his hand. He flicked his wrist, and the thin silicate band around it flashed briefly before projecting a datastream over the palm of his hand. Data scrolled over his palm in orderly lines when he twitched his finger, and he squinted, taking it all in. 

“Isn’t your lovely daughter home on her mid-term break?” 

Lady G’s chuckle this time held a dark edge. _Yes, but I don’t want to assume she’s strong enough leverage, if leverage is needed._

Ukoku considered that “if” for a moment. Interesting. “Is he up to something, or is this a legitimate delay? The kid’s an idiot, but he seemed confident his lackey’s connections would be enough to get us a fair hearing.”

_I can’t tell, and your probability models didn’t predict zero momentum into week three of the endeavor._

No, they hadn’t. This shouldn’t be a null-movement issue. Either they’d be making small steps—or, in the best case, the great leaps that Martian gravity made possible—forward, or they’d be doing an end-run around an outright refusal. Refusal for any number of reasons had seemed the most probable outcome of Kougaiji’s little visit to Bradbury, and Ukoku had several possible scenarios in place depending on what might block the Syndicate’s efforts. But nothing at all … It hadn’t seemed likely when Lady G had first proposed her idea, and it didn’t seem likely now.

Something was up.

Well, fuck. He was going to Bradbury, like it or not. He considered briefly. Maybe he could finally push Kougaiji into an outright betrayal or, even better, prove gross incompetence and have a reason to take care of him for good. At least three of his probability models had predicted Kougaiji’s arrest and indefinite incarceration. There was still time, Ukoku realized, to manufacture a situation that would lead first to an arrest and then a decompression accident or a shanking (he did rather enjoy the classics) in whichever prison dome Kougaiji was sent to. “I’ll have Hwang get my crawler ready,” Ukoku said, fingers already moving in the datastream to send the order.

_No. I want you there tomorrow. You’re taking the Tube._

Well, fuck. Again. He hated the Tube, and he was pretty sure she knew it. He was also pretty sure a three-day lag on his end wouldn’t implode everything since it seemed nothing—nothing at all—had happened yet. He couldn’t implode nothing. And a crawler trip would give him time to plan. Still, “Second-class,” he said quickly, hating himself for the knee-jerk reaction. He knew better, but somehow, once every eight years or so, Lady G still managed to goad him into reacting like a callow teenager. He’d just consigned himself to economy.

_Economy, my pet_. Lady G’s voice was rich with petty satisfaction. _I’m not made of money, and you’ll need every red cent in Bradbury I can spare._

That bitch. The worm of impatience still wriggling along Ukoku’s spine flared into a hot, tense cable of anger that made him stiffen and stand up straighter. He ground his teeth, not caring that his pinhole mic would pick it up, though he did manage to sound pleasantly bored as he said, “I’ll be at the station within the hour.”

_See that you are._ The sharp crackle-snap as Lady G terminated the transmission went mostly unnoticed as Ukoku turned back to the solar screen. The sunset was over, only a few anemic, rust-colored bands of light limning the horizon, and as he watched, they faded into dull oblivion.

Well. That just had to be a metaphor for something, didn’t it?

/\/\/\/\

The Tube had been worse than he’d remembered. It was infinitely worse than his inaugural trip from New Edo to Bradbury and back, first as an eager novitiate and then as a jaded apostate dropout. The gentle ache along his jawline and forehead, little souvenirs of fourteen hours of clenched teeth and a deep scowl, threatened to bloom into a nauseating headache. Ukoku inhaled deeply and held the breath, savoring the flat, stale taste of the station airlock’s air. It was an incalculable improvement over the thick, hot “recycled” air in the Tube. Somehow, the carbon scrubbers in economy never managed to neutralize the sharp, unpleasant tang of unwashed bodies, foul breath, and overly spiced protein slabs—a unique miasma that Ukoku was convinced would permeate the corridors of hell itself.

Ukoku exhaled and made his way through the airlock’s inner doors, clearing a little room with judicious yet subtle use of his elbows. He flicked a kick at the boot heel of an aggravating ambler moseying in front of him, and then wished for pointier toes on his shoes when the kick failed to either move the ambler or speed her progress. Finally, a small pocket of space opened up to her right, and Ukoku slid around her. If his elbow jabbed a nerve cluster in her arm that made her gasp and pull up short, it was entirely by happy accident. He smiled all the way to the baggage claim.

His smile didn’t last long after he left the station. Transports, both automated and manned, were in short supply on Bradbury’s crowded streets. The tension along his jaw and temples increased, and he decided to be reckless, which meant taking measures. He activated his wristband and wiggled his fingers in a complicated pattern, and the smile reappeared as an unoccupied automated transport, already on call and heading somewhere else, disengaged to veer through traffic. It stopped in front of him.

Ukoku dropped his luggage in the cargo compartment before sliding into the passenger pod. The door whoosh-snicked shut, and he murmured, “Hotel 451.” The panel in front of him chimed acknowledgment and the transport glided away from the curb as he settled comfortably against the padded interior. Ukoku glanced down at the datastream flickering over his fingers, then shook his hand and clenched his fist. The stream blinked out. He would have to be careful. The Syndicate didn’t have as much freedom to act here in Bradbury, almost 5,000 kilometers from New Edo and easy access to Lady G’s head-bashers and moneymen. Plus, here in the capitol dome, the signals were monitored more closely. They weren’t significantly harder to hack or piggyback, but it was more difficult to tweak them without attracting attention.

And he didn’t want to attract attention. Not yet. Not that he was worried about being caught; Ukoku sniffed at the very idea. But if anyone from Kougaiji to the Bradbury power structure, elected or illicit, had a micro-inkling that Ukoku might get involved before he was ready to be noticed, things could get … irksome. 

He needed to plan, Ukoku thought. To plan and backup plan, things he was good at.

/\/\/\/\

Hotel 451 was the perfect place to plot, he decided the next day. He was in a room directly below and slightly to the left of the suite Kougaiji had reserved. It took no effort whatsoever to wait until Kougaiji and his flunkies were gone, hailing a transport to a meeting just outside the capitol corridor, where all the officials did their own plotting and backdoor dealing. It took almost as little effort to begin surveillance.

Ukoku watched while Dokugakuji and Yaone went shopping and then met with Dokugakuji’s brother. What a wonderful way to spend his first full day in Bradbury. Ukoku scrolled through the data in the palm of his hand, reviewing the information. Gojyo Sha was a minor official attached to the Prelate-Chancellor’s office who worked for the Prelate-Chancellor’s son. Ukoku watched with lukewarm interest, sensing some old tension between them. And then, just when Ukoku was about to leave his half-drunk cup of tea and walk out of the qwiki-serv diner across from the upscale café where the Shas and Yaone were meeting, Dokugakuji powered up an interference screen.

Ukoku paused and sat back down. Well, now there was no chance he’d go haring off elsewhere, not even to find out whether Kougaiji had left 451. He squinted, trying to make out what Yaone was saying, but the interference screen made anything less than grand, sweeping motions utterly indistinct—a clever side effect of the signal dampening that Ukoku found annoying. But then, without it, he would have packed up far too soon and missed whatever intrigue was going on. Because there was intrigue; that was a certainty. Ukoku could almost smell it.

He motioned to a server-bot and ordered a small, sugared carb slab meant to mimic pound cake. Ukoku had tasted pound cake a few times. Each time, it’d been stolen from someone else: illicit cake always tasted best, regardless of being chocolate or citrus. Unfortunately, the carb slab was an extremely poor imitation. It had a dull, dry flavor reminiscent of the sterile Martian dirt out-dome and a grainy texture that somehow also managed a peculiar stickiness. The unlikely juxtaposition almost distracted him from the trio across the street, but Ukoku manfully pried the cake from his incisors with his tongue and risked a glancing signal bounce that could conceivably register as a glitch from a failing communications unit. 

The bounce brought back just enough data to show that Dokugakuji and Yaone were speaking with the chief counsel for the Prelate-Chancellor and that a data transfer had just taken place between Dokugakuji’s unit and Hakkai Cho’s office. Straight to Cho’s official workstation.

Ukoku shut down the processing unit in his wristband and pushed away the plate with the rest of his carb slab on it. He stood, waving away the server-bot that bustled back to see if he wanted anything else, and walked back to the hotel. He took the long way to give himself more time to review the little bit of data he’d captured. He ran it through a few different probability generators and got similar results for each one.

“Well, well,” Ukoku muttered as the last model finished rendering. “What a disappointment you’ve proven to be, Kougaiji and company.”

It looked like Lady G’s stepson was positioning himself for a coup. And not a straight-forward seizing of power, which he must know would be impossible. A few of the projections even suggested that he wanted reorganize the Syndicate from the lowest numbers-runner all the way up to the Lady. Oh, Kougaiji could explain away the data transfer and the meetings as an attempt to set up legitimate channels for the insider influence and cargo space that Lady G wanted to sponsor. In fact, legitimate uses for Lady G’s money were essential to her overall plan to buy into the procurement of extra medical, agricultural, and technological supplies moving from Earth to Mars. She wanted the real materials to move through her companies to eventually act as a conduit for all the offworld-market merchandise she planned to smuggle Mars-side.

But Ukoku suspected that the meetings between Kougaiji’s people and the Prelate-Chancellor’s had been happening the whole time Kougaiji had been in Bradbury. Using Dokugakuji and his brother as a cover looked smart on the surface, but it wasn’t holding up. Dokugakuji wasn’t good at intrigue, and Kougaiji wasn’t a very good dissembler. That would explain the minimalist “no progress” reports the Lady had been receiving. Kougaiji had to feel very confident in what he was doing to stay in Bradbury for weeks without his sister. He might even have agents in the Syndicate ready to turn everything over to the Prelate-Chancellor’s office, and Lady G would be none the wiser. Her contacts in Bradbury were nominal. On Earth, the distance would be nothing. On Mars, with its limited resources and tightly controlled population centers, especially Bradbury—terraforming hadn’t worked, it might never work, and Mars probably wasn’t going to get an Earth-standard atmosphere anytime soon—Lady G was virtually blind.

So was Ukoku. Until now.

Back at the hotel, he did a quick, easy override of an employee entrance and made his way back to his room without running into anyone else. He had to decide how much to tell Hwang and the Lady of what he suspected and how much he wanted to keep to himself. He had an opportunity here. If the probability models were correct and he played it right, he could conceivably get rid of everyone from Lady G to Kougaiji to Lirin. He could own New Edo. 

Ukoku drafted a quick, newsy, but ultimately uninformative message for Hwang and pulled up the captured datastream fragment once more. Aha. Two days. In two days, Kougaiji and his idiot minions would be attending a reception for the local leading families and visiting Earth dignitaries. That seemed like the perfect place to conduct more private business: virtually in public without the hassle of being in public. 

Ukoku would crash that party. He might even be able to re-introduce himself to the Prelate-Chancellor. It had been almost two decades, but Ukoku had known Koumyou once. Briefly. If he managed to gain an audience with Koumyou, he might find out with more precision what Kougaiji thought he was up to and how to shift it entirely to his own advantage. And Ukoku could, if the stars aligned, poison the well and completely ruin Kougaiji’s and Lady G’s plans while planting the seeds for his own takeover.

Ukoku smirked. He had a little covert hacking to do. It would take him some time because he would have to be careful, but he had a few hours to spare now and could take advantage of the hotel’s outgoing signal to mask at least part of his hacking, especially since he really needed to do some shopping. It wouldn’t do to arrive at the reception in his workaday clothing. He needed something appropriate for the venue. Something that would stand out and get him noticed.

/\/\/\/\

Everything in the reception hall was white and gold, sparkling and bright: the walls, the floors, the centuries-old chandeliers from a Florentine estate back on Earth, and the people dressed in varying shades of pale. Ukoku couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much off-white, eggshell, snow, ivory, and true white. Nearly everyone wore it tonight, including those few whose lighter complexions were washed out next to the particular shade they’d chosen. The splashes of color were mostly present in the attendees’ hair and skin, the differences in dress relegated to subtle shifts in the hue and more obvious shifts in the cut and the style.

Of course, there were always those few who dared to be different—eccentrics, they liked to call themselves. Those were the people with so much money they didn’t need to display their wealth in the crispness or brilliance of their whiter-than-white clothing: everyone knew they could afford to keep their gowns and jackets pristine, untouched by the red Martian dust that got everywhere and stained virtually everything despite the domes, the advanced filtration systems, and the diligence of the capitol cleanup crews.

And then there were those, even fewer in number, who genuinely didn’t care. Ukoku knew he stood out as one of them in his gray trousers and black tunic, the fabric slippery and sumptuous and so dark it seemed to swallow the warm golden light twinkling from the chandeliers. It was an Earth silk, worth as much as any of the other partygoers’ clothes, and looked it.

The crowd parted briefly, revealing a tight knot of snowy figures: Prelate-Chancellor Koumyou and his annoying son, the son’s irritating lackeys, and … yes. Kougaiji, Dokugakuji, and Yaone. Kougaiji had his head bent close to Kouryuu’s, an intensity in his body language showing just how earnest he was. Kouryuu scowled, and the deep lines between his eyebrows suggested that he was actually listening. Listening favorably, even. Ukoku wasn’t sure what to make of that. Kouryuu was no stickler for rules, but like his father, he was reputed to have a strict moral code. Which made the lack of information on Lady G’s transport plan and its progress through the system—overt or covert—so unlikely.

Ukoku glanced at the other five in the group. Dokugakuji and his brother, the one with the hair even redder than Kougaiji’s, exchanged wary glances that suddenly shifted into something satisfied. Ukoku scanned the rest of the group and saw the same reflected in the other faces. Except Prelate-Chancellor Koumyou’s. He wore the same mild expression he’d come in with.

And then he locked eyes with Ukoku and smiled. His lips quirked in the sly way Ukoku thought he’d been projecting all these years, and Ukoku froze. Only for a fraction of a second. But Koumyou saw.

Ukoku forced himself to relax. This was what he’d wanted. He hadn’t been sure that Koumyou would recognize him, but the possibility had existed. He smiled, slowly and widely, showing teeth, and moved toward the group. His smile sharpened as first Dokugakuji and then Kougaiji and Yaone noticed him. 

Kougaiji reached him first, meeting him halfway across the hall. Ukoku felt a strand of glee unfurl as he noted the tension in Kougaiji’s stance and the expression of polite distaste he wore.

“Why are you here?” Kougaiji hissed, just audible over the chatter of the other guests and the clink of glasses being set upon serving trays.

Ukoku smoothed his tunic, giving the hem a little tug and incidentally picking up the DNA-triggered microbug clinging to the inner stitching there. “I’m just here to make sure things move along.” He rested his hand on Kougaiji’s shoulder, enjoying the minute flinch that flashed through the other’s muscles, and gave a quick, powerful squeeze that was anything but friendly. The microbug sensed Kougaiji’s DNA and clung to his collar. When his hair brushed it as he turned his head, the bug would transfer itself and remain in place for at least thirty-six hours. Unless Kougaiji got a haircut in the next day and a half, Ukoku would have ears on him wherever he went, interference screens and the like be damned. “Since they’re not moving at all. Your mother is concerned. Ah, I meant stepmother, of course,” Ukoku said smoothly at the further stiffening of Kougaiji’s spine. “She worries that failure to close this deal could affect her daughter’s future.”

Kougaiji flushed, the warm tones of his skin deepening, but he kept his temper. Ukoku was a little impressed despite himself. And, he would admit, a little disappointed. “It won’t,” Kougaiji hissed. “We’re nearly there. This isn’t like New Edo, we can’t just—”

Kougaiji bit off the rest of his sentence and turned away, his bright red hair sweeping over his collar and the microbug. Dokugakuji and his brother had arrived, the rest of the Prelate-Chancellor’s little entourage close behind them. Kougaiji glanced back at Ukoku and grimaced, then smoothed out his expression and gestured gracefully at Ukoku.

“Your Holi—Prelate Koumyou,” he said, tongue stumbling a little, “please allow me to present Ken Ukoku, the head of the Syndicate’s research and development department. He’s the one who runs the probability projections and oversees the development of new interests in the company. He’s the person Lady Gyokumen relies upon most and the reason the Syndicate and New Edo have done so well this past decade.”

Koumyou’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, deep, warm lines that reminded Ukoku how often Koumyou had smiled at the acolyte he’d been. Koumyou extended his hand.

“We’ve met,” Koumyou said.

Kougaiji flushed again, the wash of color less pronounced this time. “Of course,” he murmured.

Ukoku smiled as though taking pity on Kougaiji and remarked, “I didn’t expect you to remember me, Holiness.”

Koumyou’s smile grew, if possible, warmer. “But I do. And I see that you’ve gone on to have quite an influence on your surroundings. I knew you would, though I had hoped … Well. Come along, Ken. I want to hear about what you’ve been doing with yourself.” Koumyou moved his arm in a sweeping gesture, the long, trailing hem of his pristine white sleeve describing an arc along the marble floor.

Ukoku nodded and made to move next to Koumyou when Kouryuu scowled and said in a surly voice, “You have people you’re supposed to meet, Father.”

Kouryuu shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “That’s why you’re here. To take care of the glad-handers and suck-ups.” He turned that generous smile on his son, who was now frowning so hard he looked as though he’d aged five decades. “It’s good practice.”

Kouryuu looked mutinous, but the tall man with glasses like Ukoku’s—Hakkai Cho—stepped forward to touch Kouryuu’s elbow. “You wanted to speak with the Olympus Mons Manufacturing executives and the Phobos Medical Company’s representative while the Earth delegation is still here.”

The youngest of the group, Goku Son, spoke up. “Yeah, and there’s the Tharsis Montes Expedition, too. They want to talk about the Armstrong-Aldrin dome plans. You—uh, Hakkai, I mean—promised them a meeting. You said you’d mediate with the delegation, and ...” He raised his eyebrows.

Ukoku looked him up and down. The little information on the Prelate-Chancellor’s household the Syndicate had gleaned in previous years suggested that some of the security personnel had traveled to Earth and been fitted with some of the bioenhancements for soldiers. Son seemed a likely candidate. He was young but had a vaguely predatory air.

Kouryuu glared. “At a reception.”

This time only Son’s right eyebrow went up. “We agreed.”

“We did agree,” Cho said gently, but there was a hint of steel in his voice. “This is the best time. Everyone is here, and they’ve all drunk a little. We might make some headway.”

“God _dammit_ ,” Kouryuu growled. “All right! An hour, no more.” He glared first at Cho and then at his father, whose smile turned beatific.

“Of course,” Koumyou said. “Ken?”

Ukoku grinned at everyone else and then turned to Koumyou. “It would be my pleasure, Holiness.” He adjusted the cuffs of his tunic, fingers skimming over his wristband to activate the recording program in the bug, and followed the Prelate-Chancellor into a large yet intimate room just off the reception hall. A pair of beefy constables stood to either side of the door, eyes narrowed as Ukoku passed into the room behind Koumyou. He ignored them.

“Please,” said Koumyou. Ukoku sat in the chair Koumyou had indicated and crossed his legs. “You don’t need to call me ‘Holiness,’” Koumyou continued once he’d sat in the chair across from Ukoku. A small table stood between them, a lacquered tray with a gently rounded bottle and some small cups in the middle.

Ukoku felt himself grinning again, but this time he actually meant it. “What would you,” he began, but Koumyou held up a hand.

“Houmei,” he said. “Would you care for some?” He lifted the bottle and tilted it. A warm, clear liquid spilled into one of the little white cups, and at Ukoku’s nod, Koumyou tilted it again. A droplet of the sake clung to the gold-chased rim of the cup Koumyou passed him, and Ukoku let it slip onto his tongue, a hot pinpoint of warm sweetness. He licked his lips.

Koumyou raised his own cup and drank, then set it down and sighed happily.

“From the latest shipment?” Ukoku asked, setting his own cup down. The Syndicate was the most powerful organization in New Edo, but real sake that actually contained subtle, layered flavors and wouldn’t strip the paint from a wall was rare even with Lady G’s money and connections.

Koumyou shook his head. “We’ve made some headway with the field and paddy domes. The satellite temples in China and Japan have been generous in their donations recently, and since we agreed to pilot the agridomes program, we’re also piloting domestic processing.”

A sliver of urgency poked somewhere in the vicinity of Ukoku’s stomach. “Oh?” It would take years to build the resources for enough agridomes to make Mars self-sufficient. But if pilot domes were proving successful, the timetable had advanced at least a decade. Maybe more. And everything depended on how many raw materials—how much labor, automated and human—could be coaxed from Earth. The domes had stood long enough that people on Earth recognized Martian life for the hardship it was, not the generous opportunity it had been touted as eighty-three years before when the Bradbury dome had seen its first permanent settlers. Technology had advanced significantly in the last century, but the limitations of trans-solar system travel, especially when Mars and Earth were at their farthest distance from one another, remained.

This would change the parameters of Lady G’s project. And it might explain the lack of movement on Kougaiji’s end, though it did nothing to excuse the lack of information. Ukoku narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking as quickly as he could.

“Mm,” Koumyou said, lifting his cup and taking another sip.

“We haven’t heard anything about the agridomes in New Edo,” Ukoku said, his voice smooth and politely curious.

Koumyou shrugged. “We had too many problems with the beta domes to go public. But the bio and atmo scientists and engineers say they’ve cracked the issues. It’ll be in the broadcasts next month. The more interest we can generate, the more agridomes we can build elsewhere. The landscape around New Edo is well suited to several, and it’ll improve the overall air quality. Further reduce the need for filtration and scrubbers with all that oxygen being piped in and the carbon dioxide being piped out.”

“Bring more permanent settlers, maybe enough specialists to make Mars thrive. Self-sufficiency,” Ukoku said. He nodded thoughtfully. They would have to start moving funds to grease palms and secure influence before the first round of public support. He would make the arrangements when he left tonight.

“Unfortunately, we’re not ready for anyone to act on this information until it goes public,” Koumyou said. He poured himself more sake and looked questioningly at Ukoku, who kept his expression neutral but held out his cup for more.

“Of course,” Ukoku said. “You can rely on my discretion.” He could easily start the transfers without notifying Lady G or letting slip anything that would tip off the datasniffers monitoring Bradbury’s electronic traffic.

Koumyou smiled again, warmth radiating from his brown eyes. “I know.” He drained his cup and set it down at the edge of the table. “So, Ken, tell me what you’ve been up to out there in New Edo for the last sixteen years. I assume you’ve lived up to the promise you showed in the seminary.”

A soft, banked heat rushed through Ukoku at that, an echo of the lust he used to feel when he was a new novice and Koumyou one of the elder brothers of the order, visiting from Earth. Before Koumyou decided to stay and was appointed Prelate, then elected Chancellor, and not long before Ukoku decided that the influence he could gain in the priesthood wasn’t worth the years of austerity and bowing to the hierarchy. Not with both Koumyou and Brother Goudai watching his every move. Not when Brother Goudai already suspected his motives and Koumyou was showing too close of an interest, thanks to Goudai’s whispers. If only Koumyou had looked at him like this sixteen years ago, Ukoku might have stayed. His might have been the influence that kept Koumyou on Mars, not Goudai’s. And unlike Goudai, Ukoku would have lived to keep exerting that influence.

Ukoku leaned back in his chair. As he did, the open neck of his tunic spread wider. A whisper of cool air ghosted over his collarbones.

“You tell me,” he said.

/\/\/\/\

Ukoku left the reception well before Kougaiji, but not before securing another invitation from the Prelate-Chancellor.

“You should come back tomorrow evening, Ken,” Koumyou had said. “You interested me before you left the seminary, and you interest me now. I have no responsibilities tomorrow night.”

Ukoku had smiled and inclined his head graciously. “Thank you, Houmei. I would be honored.”

Koumyou threw back his head, laughing. “‘Honored!’ You met me when I was Brother Houmei, sent to Mars in an attempt to curb my wilder tendencies.”

Ukoku watched the way the dim light caught in the fine strands of Koumyou’s long braid, glints of faded gold and bright silver. He remembered that braid. He had fantasized about it once, right before he’d left the seminary and gone back to New Edo. He had imagined that it would be soft as silk, like the tunic he wore tonight. He still imagined it.

Something of his thoughts must have shown, or Koumyou must have guessed. Maybe he’d known sixteen years ago. His smile changed when he stopped laughing and looked at Ukoku again. It grew warmer, but this time the warmth was sultrier. Less friendly.

Ukoku had cleared his throat, and Koumyou’s smile had brightened. “Yes, tomorrow, Ken. You must have dinner with me. I want to hear more about what you do in New Edo, why you left us.”

Now back in his room at the hotel, Ukoku disrobed. He sat there, naked, and let the cool recycled air from the environmental unit wash over his skin. He fell asleep like that and woke up with subtle gooseflesh. The brush of his hair against the back of his neck made him shiver, skin hypersensitive.

Ukoku dressed himself and ordered a simple breakfast of tea, a whipped protein slab meant to mimic scrambled eggs, and a grilled carb slab that was supposed to make the diner think of French toast. Since he’d never had French toast, Ukoku couldn’t say whether the hotel cooks presented an adequate facsimile. But he rather doubted that French toast was meant to be quite so gluey or taste like lightly sweetened lint.

When he’d finished, leaving a squadron of soggy, colorless crumbs behind, Ukoku tongued the switch for his pinhole mic. 

“Ukoku for Lady Gyokumen,” he said softly. He waited for several seconds as the processors back in New Edo routed his request and pinged Lady G’s personal channel. As he waited, he flicked his wristband to life and started scrolling through the shops again. If he was going to see Koumyou tonight, he needed to be well dressed.

_Ken, darling,_ Lady G positively purred. She sounded very satisfied with herself. Either a recent plan had come to fruition, or Hwang was sharing the Lady’s bed. At least she was in a good mood. It might help mitigate some of the bad-news vibe Ukoku was about to send her way.

“Your idiot stepson is up to something,” Ukoku said. He tapped a finger in the air and stopped the shop projection on a black silk shirt. This one had delicate gold embroidery along the placket, collar, and cuffs. The gold reminded Ukoku of the reception hall and the color Koumyou’s hair had been sixteen years ago: rich and bright, seeming to glow from within instead of reflecting light from an outside source. The projection glowed green as Ukoku sent his account information to the shop. Bradbury had the best of everything, dammit. A shirt like that would cost half again as much in New Edo and probably have some sort of flaw in the stitching or its cut.

_Something more than incompetence?_

Ukoku flexed his wrist and the shop projection fled, replaced by the carefully assembled report he’d written. It skimmed the surface of what he’d discovered so far and modified the results of some of his probability projections. It contained nothing about the agridomes or the likelihood of Kougaiji attempting a coup. It did, however, hint at a setup with the capitol authorities. “Looks like,” he said.

_Show me,_ she sighed. The transmission hissed a little as Ukoku packaged his report as business profit projections for an expansion of the Syndicate’s holdings into Bradbury—not strictly untrue, if one wasn’t too picky about the definition of “expansion” or the expansion’s legality, he noted—just in case the capitol datasniffers got a little overzealous.

“I’ll know more later today.” Ukoku closed the datastream and set his wristband on standby. He wanted to ping the microbug soon, just to see if Kougaiji had been indelicate in his conversation or overheard anything interesting the previous night. Now, if their positions had been reversed, Ukoku would have taken measures to be certain he hadn’t been compromised. But, as he regularly told Lady G, Kougaiji was an idiot. There was a softness in him, something that kept him from reaching any potential he’d once had. He could be intelligent, but he apparently chose not to exercise that trait very often.

_Keep me apprised, Ken, and be ready to assume responsibility for any negotiations or troubleshooting. We need this deal._ Lady G’s voice had lost the veneer of contentment. Now she sounded ready to start making decisions.

Well, let her decide. Depending on what Kougaiji had done while Ukoku was trading pleasantries and making plans with Koumyou, Ukoku would make the final decisions.

“Whatever you say, my lady,” Ukoku said. Only a little sarcasm colored his voice, and since the distance between the domes made their connection a little crackly, Ukoku doubted she’d even notice.

She clicked off without saying anything else, and Ukoku spent another five minutes trying to decide exactly what Kougaiji’s plan was. He would know as soon as he heard what the microbug had recorded, but Ukoku enjoyed playing the occasional mind game against himself. And speaking of, Kougaiji’s endgame seemed clear: seize control of New Edo and oust his stepmother. Assassination was possible, though messy, and might leave him with some months of watching his back. He’d have to clean out the organization of those truly loyal to Lady G. Ukoku doubted he would be on that list; he would probably be on the list of people to erase regardless of their loyalty to the Lady or the organization. Kougaiji neither liked nor trusted him. Ukoku didn’t blame him; it was the only intelligent thing he’d ever done. 

Another possibility, one that several of his projections had highlighted, was that Kougaiji would enlist help from the law, which would explain his connection to the Prelate-Chancellor’s son and the others, especially Cho. A significant amount of the law in New Edo was affiliated in some way with the Syndicate: Lady G controlled much of what went in and out of the dome, sometimes legitimately, but most often illicitly. Getting rid of her would shift the balance of power, but Ukoku thought it wasn’t too far-fetched for Kougaiji to make concessions to the capitol in an effort to restructure the Syndicate in his favor. He was young, so he had time to rebuild power and influence. He might even be able to manage it from Bradbury.

And if Kougaiji had heard the barest hint about the agridomes, rebuilding the Syndicate’s fortune and hold on New Edo would be laughably simple.

Ukoku needed to make decisions. He flicked his wristband back to full power and set up a codestring that would slowly begin skimming money from Syndicate accounts in minute amounts, funneling them into an offworld account. In two weeks, Ukoku would have enough capital, free and clear and laundered via several legitimate Martian and Terran companies, to purchase a large stake in the agridomes. In a month, he’d have half again as much, thanks to interest compounding protocols he’d salted throughout his account streams in the last seven years. Nobody would be the wiser, and that capital would be ready as soon as the domes were announced. It wouldn’t matter if the domes proposed for New Edo weren’t open for private citizens’ investment. Once back in New Edo, Ukoku could hack with impunity and open a way for himself.

And if he managed to stay in contact with Koumyou—an imperative, for this reason if no other—he could exploit any comm transmissions and embed pieces of encrypted code that would assemble and execute themselves at a predetermined date.

Ukoku checked the timestamp on his wristband. He’d taken ten minutes rather than five, and it was time to start his intrigue in earnest.

A judicious tap and flick of his index finger started the retrieve-and-transcribe function embedded in the microbug’s code. Yes, he only had about twelve or thirteen hours of the thirty-six recorded, but there was no good reason to procrastinate—especially when it came to discovering what Kougaiji was really up to.

Ukoku scrolled through the transcript, paying special attention to the sections highlighted by the key phrase trawling protocol he’d added to the original program, and began to smile. The further he read, the wider his smile grew.

“Oh, Kougaiji,” he chuckled. “Altruism? I never would have expected it of you.” 

Assassination was off the table, alas. If Ukoku wanted to use Kougaiji’s betrayal to set himself up as the Grand Poobah of Crime, he would have to arrange something for Lady G, Hwang, and a large number of higher-level members of the Syndicate on both the legal and illegal side of the business. That wouldn’t be too difficult. 

After all, Ukoku had been the one to slip the polonium into Lord Gyumaoh’s whiskey—tragic because it was a waste of a divine Earth liquor, but deliciously satisfying since it had set in motion the Lady’s rise to power. She had been upset about the poisoning of her husband, of course, but had come to see the silver lining. And once Ukoku had brought her the head of Don Marconi, godfather of the second most powerful crime family in New Edo, as his highly effective scapegoat, he had risen quickly in the organization and had begun to enjoy his new position.

He was ready to rise again.

Ukoku kept scrolling. Kougaiji’s clever little plan was to loose the capitol law machine on Lady G within two weeks of the agridomes becoming public knowledge. He estimated that he would be able to finish positioning a few more of his own flunkies and otherwise devoted followers, who would step in just as Cho’s and Sha’s enforcers moved in and shut down the Syndicate’s less savory revenue streams. Kougaiji would then concentrate on the fully legal aspects of the organization and throw his newfound weight and money into bringing agridomes to New Edo, ushering in a new era of unparalleled prosperity and creating more beneficial connections between the domes to promote a self-sufficient Mars. 

Ukoku positively cackled when he reached that part. Kougaiji hadn’t been so clichéd as to use the phrase “ushering in a new era of unparalleled prosperity,” but Ukoku could hear it lurking in the self-righteous little speeches he made to Cho, Dokugakuji, the younger Sha, and Yaone. It was absolutely precious. And it would never happen. 

The next several minutes were spent drafting another report to send to Lady G. Ukoku spent those minutes finding increasingly satisfying ways to embellish the headway Kougaiji had made and to insert strong suggestions that he would not be content with seeing his stepmother and her most trusted employees shuttled off to the prison domes. In itself, this was bad enough, but Ukoku needed Kougaiji’s plan to be worse. Creating false datastreams that connected Kougaiji and his “secret”accounts—that, too, was precious, the idea that Kougaiji thought his most private accounts were hidden well enough from Ukoku—to the acquisition of top-tier assassins and a few of the more exotic offworld poisons, including a small measure of polonium, afforded Ukoku some of the most vibrant glee he’d experienced in the last several years.

No, he didn’t know when he’d last had such fun.

The report was sent off an hour later, and Ukoku settled in, ready to spend the rest of his day planning more concrete countermeasures ... and waiting for Lady G’s inevitable meltdown. He would have a very diverting day, the perfect precursor to what he hoped would be an even more diverting night.

/\/\/\/\

_Ken, my darling. Have you picked up any more details about my bastard stepson’s plans?_ Lady G’s voice sounded even, temperate. She sounded reasonable.

Ukoku blinked, fumbling, and then recovered and fastened the next-to-last button on his new shirt—the one with the lustrous embroidery. Lady G’s apparent equilibrium was as disconcerting as it was unexpected.

“No,” he said, giving his cuffs a gentle tug to settle them at the right angle. He counted the seconds until her reply.

_Mmh. Well. What do you propose we should do about him?_

“Throw him to the wolves and let him rot or kill him, of course,” Ukoku said, tapping the concierge node near his room’s door to call for a transport.

_Mm, yes. Do you have any more specific suggestions?_

Ukoku paused. He already knew what he wanted to do: take out Lady G by adapting parts of Kougaiji’s plan to suit his own character and sense of fun, and then remove Kougaiji and his cohorts in a messy, public manner that would clearly signal his intent to the whole of New Edo society. Or, for the sense of staying tidy, he could tweak both their plans and have them take each other down in a blaze of glorious, presumed familial infighting.

Yes, that could very well be just the thing.

“Something flashy,” Ukoku said. “Something that everyone will know you ordered done and why.”

_I thought as much_ , Lady G said after a brief pause. _Stay close. Find out whatever else you can about who’s involved in both domes_ , she continued, and then she cut the transmission abruptly.

That was … odd. He’d have to consider the Lady’s uncharacteristically calm reaction to his news that Kougaiji was planning to kill her. He gave a mental shrug. Maybe she’d been expecting it. Any person in a position with that much power was regularly endangered by that very position. But then, in the past, distantly and more recently, she’d flown into a frothing rage at the very notion of being challenged by anyone, rivals or otherwise.

Well. Perhaps the Lady had finally learned equanimity. Ukoku snorted to himself and turned to check his reflection in the highly polished chrome wall of his room’s entryway. The black silk—an inspired choice, even if it recalled the sartorial elements of the previous evening—softened and mitigated some of the sallowness of his complexion, and rather than making his hair appear dull by comparison, some of its rich sheen seemed to be reflected in the dark locks brushing his shoulders. His eyes, too, shone with the same light that played over the silk’s surface.

He gave himself a roguish wink and a grin. He would do.

Yes, he did very well, indeed. The roguish grin worked better than he could have planned for. It rubbed everyone on the Prelate-Chancellor’s staff and in his household wrong. The curled lips, cold expressions, and elevated noses told him that he was being tolerated only by the most generous definition of the word. He decided that if most of the people he passed on his way to Koumyou’s personal dining room had their way, he’d drop to the ground, frothing at the mouth from a poisoned dart or gasping with a sucking chest wound. Or a blood vessel in his head, possibly a crucial thoracic artery, would suffer a timely explosion.

Ukoku could not have been more delighted. He knew none of these people, had met none of them save Koumyou’s son and the son’s small circle of apparent … friends. Their reactions suggested that Ukoku represented something threatening. Perhaps he was even _greatly_ threatening.

It was indescribably satisfying, and his grin only widened when Koumyou rose from his chair at the table to greet him. The press of Koumyou’s hand, firm and welcoming, sent a thrill that jolted through his fingertips and sparked something low and glowing in the middle of his chest.

He took a tumbler of scotch from Koumyou and sipped delicately. The liquor burned, wonderful in its heat, all the way down.

Koumyou smiled. “One of the many perks of being Prelate-Chancellor and receiving the delegates and negotiators from various Earth corporations. They bring so many presents.”

Ukoku nodded. He didn’t consider himself to be the kind of man whose head was turned by the trappings of power and prosperity; the satisfaction of having power and exercising it was more his poison. And if that power was stolen? All the sweeter.

But he thought he could get used to this. At least for a while.

Koumyou looked at him, his expression thoughtful, eyebrows raised in inquiry. “So, Ken,” he said after a moment. Ukoku wondered briefly if Koumyou had hoped his silence would goad Ukoku into speaking first. It was a trick the brothers at the seminary had used far too often. But then, maybe the practice was merely habit and meant nothing.

“Yes?” Ukoku said between slow sips. He held the tumbler and turned it slightly in his hands, admiring the scotch’s luxuriant amber glow.

Koumyou sat forward, hands clasped lightly, forearms resting on his knees. It was an oddly earnest, youthful pose. “We didn’t have much time last night to talk about you. My exploits have been in the news, Mars- and Earth-side, since my appointment.”

Ukoku inclined his head. He felt the corners of his lips curve upward. “You can’t expect me to believe that you don’t know anything at all. I’m willing to bet your staff assembled a quick, accurate summary of my activities over the last sixteen years.”

Koumyou chuckled, but he didn’t lean back or shift his posture. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

Ukoku shrugged. He knew that some of his less savory exploits for the Syndicate would be in whatever report Koumyou had. But he also knew that even with Kougaiji’s access to all of the Syndicate’s information, he’d covered his tracks well. He’d been smart and cautious when he first came to work for Lord and Lady G, and he’d only gotten smarter and more cautious over the years. He’d done things no one would ever know about—things even he’d forgotten.

And he knew what Kougaiji was up to. He could spin that knowledge however he liked.

Ukoku finished his scotch, catching the last drop on the tip of his tongue. Unlike the sake the night before, this droplet was all heat and no sweetness, and it suited his mood. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, swallowing. When he opened his eyes again, Koumyou was watching, still and attentive.

“After leaving Bradbury, I went back to New Edo. I admit to feeling disillusioned—I was young and impatient. Painfully ambitious.”

“The young often are,” Koumyou observed. 

Ukoku quirked a conspiratorial smile. “I decided I wanted to have influence, and I wanted to be able to advance in whatever I did. The seminary didn’t offer as many opportunities as the private sector, especially for the amount of … structure. The chance to have a temple of my own would only come along if someone above me died, and—” he nodded, projecting a subtle hint of deference, “—if no one else came from Earthside and decided to stay.”

Now Koumyou leaned back. His smile was gentle and maybe a little sad. “I think a young man of your talents would have been noticed and encouraged.”

Ukoku shrugged. “Maybe. I was a little wild. I remember that Brother Goudai—well. I think I tested him. I remember being very trying.”

Koumyou chuckled again, his smile still gentle, somewhat sadder. “He did have plenty to say. I think he might have been a little hard on you.”

Now Ukoku let himself grin a little sheepishly. “Maybe not. I—” He gestured at the bottle of scotch, and Koumyou nodded. Ukoku poured himself a two more fingers, then splashed some more into Koumyou’s tumbler. He took a long sip, sighing in contentment as he felt it warm him all the way down. “I got into the Syndicate on the wrong side, as I’m sure your staff discovered. I did some things I shouldn’t have.”

“And now?” Koumyou asked softly.

Ukoku swirled the scotch, watching the way it sparkled and clung to the smooth crystal curve in the palm of his hand. “Now I’m the head of the research and development department. The Syndicate still has some less-than-savory dealings, but those are growing fewer and further apart. Probability models suggest that we should be in the clear very soon.”

Koumyou raised a polite, skeptical eyebrow.

“Well,” Ukoku amended, shading his voice with disappointment and a hint of defeat, “that’s what we’re working toward. Some of us. Our legitimate interests are more lucrative than the … shadow dealings, but old ways die hard. It’s mostly a personnel issue at this point. The old guard, they—ah. At least they’re old and on their way out.”

“Hmm,” said Koumyou.

Ukoku leaned forward, hands clasped around his tumbler and forearms braced on his knees. The top button of his shirt was undone, and he swallowed heavily, gratified by the way Koumyou’s gaze followed the slide of muscles along his throat. “It could be easier. I’m afraid that Lady Gyokumen’s stepson and I don’t get along, and while we want the same thing, we think it should happen in very different ways. He’s … impatient.” Ukoku flashed a lopsided smile. “He’s young; I understand. But the Syndicate is influential, the major player in New Edo. Most of the commerce comes through one or more of our departments, and—” He shrugged. “It’s difficult. And he doesn’t know as much about the company as he thinks. He’s always been on the peripheral, not wanting to get his hands dirty, not even when the business was dirtier. It’s not like that now.” Ukoku stopped. He was laying it on, maybe a tad too thick. But there was something about Koumyou that pricked the younger man inside him. Part of him wanted Koumyou’s attention, his approval, like he’d wanted it sixteen years ago.

The rest of him just wanted to see how quickly he could pull off his scheme, whether he could have Koumyou for just one night. It would make all his youthful fantasies come true. Or some of last night’s fantasies. Ukoku wasn’t feeling very picky. He shifted in his chair.

Koumyou watched, eyes hooded. Ukoku stayed still, only moving to raise the scotch to his lips and take long swallows. A few drops escaped his lips on his last sip, and he gathered them on his fingertip, then touched his finger to his lips, licking in an absent manner. He didn’t make it overtly erotic, and he didn’t make eye contact with Koumyou until he was done and the empty tumbler back on the table.

Koumyou’s lips parted, and he said, “Have you seen the double moonset without polarization?” 

Ukoku shook his head. His skin pebbled under the ink-black silk of his embroidered shirt, and he hid his smile, though he felt the corners of his eyes crease.

Koumyou laughed and got out of his chair. “I’m afraid I’m not subtle.”

Ukoku stood, his gaze following the sinuous sway of Koumyou’s braid. “I don’t see the point of being subtle,” he answered. It was true, at least in this case.

Koumyou held out his hand, and Ukoku let himself be drawn to a door on the far side of the private dining room. A long corridor and several side doors later, they emerged in a large room appointed with simple but elegant furniture, including a bed with sumptuous linens. Koumyou glanced at it. “More perks of the position.”

Ukoku smirked but said nothing. He followed Koumyou out onto a balcony that stood mere meters from the dome’s surface. A pass of Koumyou’s hand over a small interface embedded in the railing caused the polarization in front of them to bleed away, leaving a near-transparent circle about seven meters across. 

Ukoku inhaled sharply, impressed despite himself. Everything on Mars was polarized or double-polarized: the thin atmosphere, which hadn’t improved noticeably in a century of human occupation, offered no protection from the sun’s harsher radiation. But now, the weak light of Deimos and Phobos turned the landscape outside the dome into a deep, dull rust color with some lighter streaks that almost looked crimson. The stars looked different, and Earth glittered, a tiny blue jewel that seemed to cling to the generous curve of Phobos’s waxing crescent.

Ukoku glanced to the side and caught Koumyou in profile. The moonlight reflected off the Martian soil, burnishing Koumyou’s hair in a pale, washed-out copper, and Ukoku reached out without thinking. The strands were, as he’d suspected, as soft and lush under his fingers as his tunic the night before. Ukoku’s clothes fell away, a chiaroscuro puddle on the floor with Koumyou’s white robe, and he found himself on the bed with Koumyou kneeling between his knees.

Koumyou’s mouth was hot and wet, and Ukoku clutched first at the velvet-rich duvet beneath him, then at Koumyou’s hair. His hands tangled in it, were trapped, and he felt himself arching upward, spilling down Koumyou’s throat in desperate, wrenching pulses.

He gasped as Koumyou’s tongue licked into his mouth, and Ukoku tasted himself, salt and peat smoke and bitterness, on Koumyou’s lips. Koumyou pressed his forehead against Ukoku’s, and Ukoku tried to regain some of his composure, but the heat of Koumyou’s breath and the blunt, insistent press of Koumyou’s cock against his hip, sticky-slick with precome, scattered his thoughts again.

Koumyou shifted and reached for himself, but Ukoku got there first. Koumyou’s erection felt thick and heavy, and he bit his lip, smiling, eyes crinkling shut, when Ukoku thumbed the head of his cock. They moved with each other, hands working at a slowly increasing pace, fingers curling together, until Koumyou’s mouth fell open, round and slack, his come slick and hot on the sensitive skin of Ukoku’s cock, balls, and hip.

And to his surprise, Ukoku fell asleep like that, on top of Koumyou’s velvet bed and under the curtain of Koumyou’s silver-gold hair.

/\/\/\/\

If, in the Prelate-Chancellor’s presence, Ukoku had been the recipient of dagger-sharp looks and mouths crimped shut in acute displeasure before, it was nothing compared to the reception he garnered in the next several days. The boiling outrage on Kouryuu’s face alone would have been worth the slowly accumulating funds in Ukoku’s offworld account. It might even have been worth New Edo.

The pleasure of it all—the jealousy and affront of others, the searing stretch of Koumyou’s cock deep inside him, the sublime heat of being deep inside Koumyou—was almost more than Ukoku could stand. Some moments, he wanted nothing to change. At others, and perhaps more often, he found himself recognizing a welling-up of something that throbbed, faint and fathomless, like an old, untreated infection somewhere inside: the sharp edges of a regret tinged with a slow-rising resentment he’d thought buried for sixteen years. He could have had this for nearly two decades if it hadn’t been the restrictive nature of the temple hierarchy. And Brother Goudai’s whispers.

But that wasn’t everything. Since Ukoku was now spending more time in Koumyou’s orbit, Kougaiji began to fade away from the Prelate-Chancellor’s circle. His natural suspicion of Ukoku increased, and Ukoku found it a little more challenging to keep tabs on him and his adorable, mostly ineffectual little minions. Fortunately, Ukoku found an opportunity to place one more microbug, this time on Yaone, on his eighth day in Bradbury.

Kougaiji planned to leave Mars. Not just New Edo—he wasn’t fleeing to Xin-Beijing or Wells-Verne, or relocating to Bradbury permanently. He had decided to take himself offworld and planned to smuggle his sister first to Bradbury and then onto the next Earth-transit. 

Ukoku was impressed despite himself. Very few people left Mars unless they were originally Earth citizens or Martians of prominence with a rare Earth visa. Kougaiji’s stepmother might own most of New Edo, but that didn’t give him or her enough clout to take a trip to Earth. He wondered how Kougaiji’d managed it, but figured it out minutes later when he came across a highlighted section in the transcript, courtesy of his key phrase trawling protocol: Cho and Kouryuu, with help from Sha and, Ukoku suspected, Koumyou. His name was never mentioned—few names were mentioned in the private conversations the microbug recorded, thanks to the new paranoia—but Ukoku thought it likely that the Prelate-Chancellor must have had some small part in the developing situation. Kougaiji and his flunkies were going into something like an offworld witness protection program. Kougaiji was handing New Edo on a platter to the capitol, and he was getting a new world out of it.

He wasn’t terribly concerned, Ukoku told himself. This would move up his timetable, and he might need to finesse a few more things, but he could still take out Kougaiji and Lady Gyokumen in an epic flash of ersatz mutual destruction.

Plans of that ilk, however, required adjustments to Ukoku’s movements. He disengaged himself from Koumyou’s company more often, citing business concerns. Since it technically wasn’t a lie, Ukoku’s sincerity was believable. His regret was genuine, and if the old resentment was growing incrementally in strength, Ukoku ignored it. Just as he ignored a new resentment: Koumyou’s probable hand in Kougaiji’s endeavors. Koumyou knew that Ukoku was ostensibly interested in the Syndicate’s reform and New Edo’s prosperity. Koumyou also acted as though he had little to do with Kougaiji. 

That, Ukoku decided after some reflection, might have been true: Sha and Cho were Kougaiji’s main contacts. But Koumyou wasn’t stupid or inattentive. Busy, but neither stupid nor inattentive.

Ukoku was stewing about that, running a probability model in an automated transport, when he caught sight of a chic white jacket, glasses much like his own, and a woman’s frumpily old-fashioned black hair. He shifted in the passenger pod, trying to keep the woman in his peripheral vision. She vanished among a clot of Bradburian officials, most of whom were also white-clad.

The transport stopped with a slight jerk as he hit the destination override on the panel in front of him. It would be best if he could hijack the transport and go to manual, but that was precisely the sort of interference that the Bradbury datasniffers would be attuned to. He would gain only a few minutes of movement and likely incur hours of hassle. It wasn’t worth the trouble. 

Ukoku jabbed the door override and slid out of the transport. He slouched his way to the corner and crossed the street. As he did so, he caught a flash of the glasses and frumpy hair once more.

Hwang. Lady G had sent Hwang. She must be ready to execute her part of the little drama Ukoku was deftly orchestrating. Though if Lady G meant the execution to be literal, as he was certain she must, he should have been her first choice. He was efficient, discreet, and loved his work. It showed his wonderfully consistent results.

Ukoku faded into the background and called another transport. Things were coming to a head whether he was ready or not.

He inhaled slowly, held the breath for a few beats of his heart, and exhaled. He was ready. He knew all the angles; no other players in this little game knew a quarter as much. Ukoku only had to bide his time to figure out what Lady G’s next step was and when she would take it.

/\/\/\/\

_Ken, my absent darling. I need you to arrange something for me_ , Lady G said.

Ukoku jerked awake, surprised only because he hadn’t meant to be sleeping. He was in his hotel room, having left Koumyou’s arms hours before. Koumyou had expressed his disappointment that he wouldn’t have much time for Ukoku over the next few days. 

“The Earth-transit is leaving with the Earth delegation soon, and I’ve decided to send Kouryuu with them. Having him there in person to negotiate with the global governments and the MarsTerra Corporation should advance the agridome construction by several years,” he’d said.

Ukoku had sat up and looked down at him. Koumyou’s braid was undone, his glinting silver-gold hair flowing over his shoulders and chest in soft, rippling waves. 

“Twenty-minute transmission delays are too much for negotiations,” Ukoku said knowingly.

Koumyou rested a hand on Ukoku’s thigh, and the muscles there quivered faintly. “Yes, too frustrating. It’s better to wait months or a year to speak in person. It seems irrational, but …” He drew a scrollwork pattern heading toward Ukoku’s hipbone, and Ukoku sucked in a breath.

“Nothing ever happens quickly on Mars,” Ukoku observed drily.

“I hope not,” Koumyou had said, fingers slipping beneath the sheet pooled in Ukoku’s lap.

_Ken_ , Lady G repeated. The sharpness of her tone carried clearly through the transmission—no static this time.

“Lady Gyokumen,” Ukoku said formally. “What will I be arranging? An accident for your beloved bastard stepson?”

Lady G’s chuckle was dark, like the edges of the solar system. _Of course._

Ukoku smiled. His wristband flared to life so he could check his most recent probability model. Kougaiji had set things up so the Bradbury officials and his avid followers in New Edo would turn on her in no more than seventy-two hours of his departure. If Ukoku needed to take care of him before that, he could still set Kougaiji’s plans in motion; it shouldn’t take much effort. Cho had been extremely efficient, from what Ukoku could see. He would have to go back to New Edo to use the datastreams and signals with impunity, but returning home for some weeks was to be expected anyway. He had a business to legitimize, after all. It was, as he had informed Koumyou, his dearest ambition. 

“When?”

_Soon_ , she said. 

Ukoku rolled his eyes. “Should I expect assistance?” he asked, keeping his voice even. 

Static popped, an electronic hiss that sounded like escaping air. Hm, there went the signal. _Hardly_ , she answered.

Ukoku frowned. Perhaps the signal was still clean and that hiss had been Lady G. Or perhaps his luck had run out and it was a datasniffer. Ukoku listened harder. He could bounce a signal, see if anything was piggybacking the transmission, but if their conversation was being targeted by a ’sniffer, that would give up the game.

“No friends, then,” he said, keeping it vague. Was Hwang here on her own? If she’d defected, joined Kougaiji’s little cabal … No. That was impossible; it wouldn’t fly, even in a wide-variable probability projection. Hwang was devoted to Lady G, almost to the point of obsession. It was pathetic and thus incredibly amusing.

_Hmm, no. Have you run into anyone?_

Oho! The Lady was being cagey. Hwang must be in Bradbury at her behest. Ukoku pursed his lips. What was she planning? A second attempt, just in case Ukoku’s assassination failed? An attempt on _him_? Perhaps Kougaiji was planning to remove Ukoku from the game, and he’d passed on enough information to make the Lady suspicious of them both. Ukoku had to smother a chuckle. Kougaiji really was too, too precious for words.

“No. I was just wondering about company,” Ukoku said. 

Lady G laughed again. She was still laughing when she cut the signal.

Ukoku considered. If Hwang meant to get rid of Kougaiji, he’d let her. Having his hands clean wouldn’t hurt him, and as much as he would enjoy being the instrument of Kougaiji’s demise, he was more interested in the result than in who pulled the trigger. Practicality was an important virtue.

He could set a backup plan and keep his eyes open for an attack headed his way. Ukoku ran his hands through his hair. He wanted something messy and semi-accidental. He had considered a terrific automated transport wreck, but the hacking was still a little iffy. With the upcoming agridome news and the Earth-transit leaving, security was bound to be tighter than usual. Ukoku paused. The Earth-transit. Losing the passenger bay to explosive decompression would be spectacular, as would a catastrophic malfunction if the passenger shuttle were to miss the coupling with the transit. Or explode when it coupled. Earth-transits didn’t sit in orbit; they would slingshot around the planet and catch the shuttles so as to lose no momentum and complete their round trip as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Sometimes—less recently now than in the past, but sometimes—the shuttle malfunctioned and lives were lost.

Ukoku approved of all things explosive, metaphorical and literal. If Kougaiji were already dead by Hwang’s hand, Ukoku would be getting rid of Kouryuu and some of the dignitaries. No great loss, to Mars or Earth or to him.

Ukoku ran his hands through his hair again. It was rough and greasy under his fingers, nothing like the blissful softness of Koumyou’s hair.

Koumyou. Ukoku laughed aloud. He had the perfect delivery system for malicious code. He could ask Koumyou for a look at the shuttle—tag along the next time Koumyou went to the hangar. The code could be DNA-triggered, keyed to Kouryuu and Kougaiji both. When either man stepped aboard, the code would unpack itself and integrate into the life support or guidance systems. Or both. Ukoku gave a little shrug and grinned, not caring that nobody was around to witness his glee. Once placed, of course, he couldn’t take it back or disarm it. Such was the nature of a guarded system like that: like an old-fashioned delayed fuse, and the datasniffers would catch him for sure if he tried to modify it outside its initial insertion. Tampering with a passenger shuttle like that would be grounds for execution, and Ukoku wasn’t quite willing to risk that. Not even for the pleasure of killing Kougaiji or Kouryuu.

He even had something like the code he needed already. One never knew when one might be called upon to rain death and destruction upon people from a distance and a delay, and Ukoku liked to keep himself busy. Building kill-codes was as good a hobby as any.

And if he couldn’t get on the shuttle himself, he could drop the code on someone who would. Wristbands weren’t too difficult to hack, and a DNA-triggered code would be harmless until launched.

Ukoku laughed again, shook his hair out of his eyes, and got to work.

/\/\/\/\

The shuttle was sleek and more spacious than Ukoku had expected. It followed lines similar to those of the old NASA shuttles in use a hundred and seventy-eight years earlier, but since it had to carry more people, its scale was much larger.

And it was interesting. Ukoku found himself intrigued by the shuttle for its own sake, beyond what it meant for his plans. Koumyou just shook his head, braid rustling across the brilliant white fabric of his prelate’s robe, and greeted the pilot and co-pilot. Ukoku grasped the co-pilot’s hand and shook it. Her grip was firm and her smile appreciative. Ukoku smiled back, stroking her wrist with the feather-light tip of his forefinger. The two microprocessor dots adhered to her silicate wristband and immediately integrated with its system. The next time she interfaced with the shuttle—about five minutes after they left, Ukoku gauged—and his code would go live. The shuttle’s internal sensors and scrubbers would key to Kougaiji and Kouryuu’s DNA, and if one of them stepped aboard, the problem would take care of itself. The whole endeavor had been easier than he’d anticipated.

Ukoku felt like celebrating. He smiled widely at everyone, including Kouryuu and Kougaiji. Both men narrowed their eyes at him, but Ukoku only blew them a kiss. Their expressions proved to be utterly priceless. He caught the outline of a short young woman with narrow hips and a well-endowed chest standing several yards away in the midst of a small crowd outside the Prelate-Chancellor’s residence and positively grinned. Lirin had arrived. Kougaiji truly meant to leave.

Koumyou caught Ukoku’s mood later that evening, after a final round of niceties shared with the Earth delegation and his son. The formal reception, grander even than the one Ukoku had crashed less than two weeks earlier, had gone long but been an unparalleled success. Ukoku suspected much of that was due to the final gifts of the MarsTerra Corporation’s executives: genuine Earth foodstuffs and a team of chefs to prepare them. A final act of generosity or a passive-aggressive fuck-you to the backward Martian hicks? Ukoku found he didn’t care. He’d never had mangoes or lychee fruit before. None of the carb slabs containing those words tasted or smelled remotely similar. If Ukoku had to guess, based on what he’d eaten that night, the carb slabs resembled vegetables more than fruit. Fruit was infinitely nicer.

The taste of mangoes lingered in Ukoku’s mouth as he kissed Koumyou that night, fists gripping Koumyou’s hips as he straddled Ukoku. Ukoku watched his cock disappearing inside Koumyou’s ass with an avidity he couldn’t remember feeling for anything else in his life. When Koumyou clenched and groaned, semen spurting to coat Ukoku’s chin and chest, Ukoku threw his head back and shouted. His fingers clutched Koumyou tightly, nails digging into the hollows of Koumyou’s hips. He left bruises, he knew, but didn’t care. Koumyou looked at him fondly.

“I have to go back to New Edo for a week or two,” Ukoku panted.

Koumyou smoothed his hand down Ukoku’s chest. His come, not yet tacky, made his fingers glide slickly over Ukoku’s left nipple. Ukoku shivered.

“I’ll be busy, too. Kouryuu and Gojyo have chosen their replacements for the next two years, and I want to make sure they’re up to speed.”

Ukoku grimaced. “Don’t you have people for that?” His tone was gently mocking, a friendly post-coital tease, but he meant it. Koumyou was going to waste his time.

Koumyou toyed with the other nipple, and Ukoku’s cock gave a half-hearted twitch. 

“Yes,” Koumyou admitted, “but I also count as ‘people.’” 

Ukoku huffed. He twined his fingers through Koumyou’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss, then gently extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and bedclothes. “Ten to fourteen days,” he murmured.

In ten to fourteen days, he would have amassed a true fortune and gained his autonomy free and clear. He could return to Koumyou for a while before needing to oversee the new and improved New Edo. Who knew? Maybe he’d let New Edo be and transfer his designs to Bradbury.

Ukoku was still considering this and reviewing his final projection model several hours later, only a dozen minutes or so before the shuttle was scheduled for its rendezvous with the transit. He still smelled of Koumyou’s come, which had an ambiguous hint of sweetness under its more customary salt-bitter musk.

_Ken, my cunning love_ , Lady G said softly in his head. 

Ukoku flicked his wrist and deactivated his most recent datastream. His offworld account looked robust, and the minute amount he’d skimmed from all the other Syndicate accounts wouldn’t be easily traced. He was pleased and allowed himself a smirk.

“Lady Gyokumen,” he said.

_My, my_ , she returned. _You sound jovial. Have you been plotting?_

If only she knew. “Always, my lady,” he said. He was almost going to miss having Lady G pop up in his head whenever she pleased. He no longer felt even the slightest prickling of irritation at her ways. Her days were numbered, and she would rapidly pass into nothing but a memory.

_You’ve arranged the event?_

“My lady,” Ukoku said. He inclined his head graciously, smirking, though she couldn’t see it. 

_Good. We need it. Your friend’s plans fell through._

Was that the grinding of teeth that Ukoku detected? A loss of temper? A tantrum seemed likely.

“What happened?” Ukoku asked, forcing himself to sound nominally concerned. It wouldn’t do for Lady G to pitch a fit right now; he wanted information.

_A collision, if you can believe it. I’ve never trusted those automated transports_ , she said darkly.

Ukoku sneered. Hwang was a rank amateur. They would likely to discover her interference and incarcerate her for it, and she hadn’t succeeded in the slightest. But … She’d just gotten herself out of Ukoku’s way: one less person high in the Syndicate to overthrow.

_Yes, the Prelate-Chancellor’s son was sharing the transport with him and Dokugakuji. Those two were unharmed, but the Prelate-Chancellor’s son broke his pelvis. I understand he was supposed to take a trip Earthside. What bad luck. It was all over the news feeds._

Ukoku frowned. What? Not that he cared about Kouryuu’s pain or suffering, but a broken bone meant no shuttle trip. They wouldn’t be able to regenerate the tissue fast enough to hold up against the g-forces at launch.

Ukoku jabbed his fingers in the datastream scrolling over his palm. He landed on a news feed and maximized the projection.

**Prelate-Chancellor’s Son Injured in Collision. No Earthside Negotiations for the Capitol’s Next Big Announcement?**

The text, which looked as though it had been written by a dozen drunks with no grasp of the language, continued, **Prelate-Chancellor Steps In. Capitol in Uproar.**

Ukoku stared blankly at the projection for several seconds. How could Koumyou have taken Kouryuu’s place? The Prelate-Chancellor couldn’t up and leave Mars. The trip to and from Earth would take a year at least, even with the slingshot orbit. And that was just one way. The planets were approaching their shortest distance from each other, but it didn’t make sense. Another Earth-transit was scheduled in about a year.

But …

The agridomes were important. They were possibly the most significant development in all of Martian history, including the original colonists’ first dome. Ukoku made a pinching motion with his fingers, and the stream jumped to a holographic view of the shuttle. A tiny Koumyou, clad all in white as usual, this time in yet another robe with magnificently long, sweeping sleeves, entered the shuttle first. He was followed closely by Sha, Dokugakuji, Yaone, Lirin, and Kougaiji. A few more passengers rounded out the queue. Ukoku could see the tiny, faded, yet gleaming gold-and-silver head of the Koumyou figure sit near the shuttle’s wide-open cargo doors.

A wave of fury so blinding that his vision went as red as Martian dust swept through him. He nearly gasped with it.

Hwang would die in the prison dome. Horribly—Ukoku would see to that. He would erase Lady G and dismantle her empire, and her little fucktoy would cease to exist on a molecular level. He might have tired of Koumyou soon or decided that he was too powerful and needed to be dealt with, but that was meant to be his own decision, no one else’s.

He looked at the timestamp on his wristband. Liftoff would happen any second now. Ukoku opened the outer door of his hotel room and stepped onto the balcony as Lady G squawked in his ear, enraged that he would ignore her.

Ukoku tongued off his mic and turned his gaze toward the Martian sky. Phobos was rising, fat and gibbous, Earth almost swallowed by its overfull curve. 

He stood and watched, waiting.

The end


End file.
